


Set Me Free, My Bumblebee

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, White!khan, so out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:05:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk wakes up grumpy and groggy (as usual). <br/>Khan is a fluffy ball of cuteness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Me Free, My Bumblebee

**Author's Note:**

> A thing I wrote months ago on le tumblr.

Jim squints into the intruding, artificial light. His impatience grows slowly as he realizes that his right arm is dead asleep, and his back is now cold. He rolls over to look the offending space behind him on the bed.

 _Tidy little shit._ The other half of the bed has been made and pressed back into place with military precision…each corner tucked and each sheet flat on the mattress. 

Jim doesn’t give a shit about the tidiness of _his_ side. He pushes himself upright and out from under the sheets, and positions himself with his legs folded beneath him. The captain sits there in the middle of the bed, blinking into the light, trying to shake the sleep away. Any fear of looking like a yoga instructor fades as the waking world slowly creeps into Kirk.  _  
_

The captain is so fucking groggy that he doesn’t even notice when a looming figure is standing in the doorway, looking down at the bed. After a few, moderately awkward moments of stillness, Kirk notices Khan. The usually precision-dressed, sharp man is now wearing slightly baggy pyjamas. Alabaster toes stick out from under the shabby hems. Kirk looks up and realises that Khan is wearing that damn black shirt again. The one that defines each muscle in Khan’s chest perfectly. The younger man smirks when he sees Khan’s groggy eyes. The usually tamed, black hair is sticking up on one side, as if it were trying to escape Khan’s scalp.

"Good morning, starshine." He slurs at the forebodingly cute paradox of a man in front of him. 

Khan’s brow furrows, yet he says nothing. 

"You even wear gold to bed; a little proud, are we, _Captain_?”

_Of course this punk starts his morning analysing my sleepwear._

Indeed, Kirk wears the same shabby, yellow t-shirt to bed almost every night (every night that he makes it to bed with a shirt on). It’s simple, comfortable, and reminds him of Earth. 

"So?" Jim immediately blushes at the immaturity of his reply.

Without another word, Khan pads toward the bed where Kirk is still sitting. Kirk relaxes as the bed dips behind him. 

Silently, Khan works his toned legs around Kirk’s. They are folded in the same style, and wrap comfortable around Kirk’s own. Khan rests his head on Kirk’s shoulder, pressing gold back to black chest. Muscled, black clad arms wrap around Kirk’s torso, leaving a slight space between them for the gold shirt to peek through. They settle into an upright spoon. A bit awkward, Kirk admits, but comforting, and soon both men relax.

Finally, Khan purrs the paradoxically innocent statement into Kirk’s ear. 

"Now we look like a bee: Black and Gold."


End file.
